


Laying the Demons to Rest

by Eledhwen



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Gen, Grief/Mourning, Post-Season/Series 03, Road Trips, Todd deserves everything he gets, a bit angsty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-19
Updated: 2019-01-19
Packaged: 2019-10-12 23:23:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,038
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17476895
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eledhwen/pseuds/Eledhwen
Summary: “I’d love to see where the amazing Karen Page grew up,” Foggy says warmly. “Far away in some tiny town in Vermont, before the bright city lights called her to a life of adventure and penury. I’m in. When do we go?”In Season 3 Karen tells Matt about the accident that killed her brother. In the wake of that, and as they build a new beginning, there's also the chance to heal some of the wounds of the past.





	Laying the Demons to Rest

**Author's Note:**

> Not entirely sure where this idea came from but the plot bunny hung grimly on to my leg until I wrote it down.

It is July, and the city is sweltering. In the cemetery, the red rose bush growing at the foot of Jack Murdock’s grave is slowly dying, its leaves crisping at the edges. Matt gives it the rest of his bottle of water, in the hope it might survive another week, and goes to run his fingers over the name of his father engraved deep in cold stone.

Karen waits patiently until he straightens up, and then, from habit, puts her elbow in the way of his hand. They make their way together towards the gate.

“Do you ever … have you been back home, since?” Matt asks, and her pace falters a second, her heart giving a jump and a flutter.

“No.”

“Don’t you think maybe you should?” he says, gently. “It can be a comfort, to be there, ask their forgiveness, if you need.”

She says nothing for a moment. “You didn’t kill your dad,” she breathes, into the silence.

“I’m pretty sure he won that match for me,” Matt says, “and if he’d thrown it as promised, he might be here now. So yeah, it’s not the same, but I carry guilt over what happened to him, too. Coming here, it helps.”

Neither of them say anything more about it, but later on in the week, with the fans whirring helplessly in their new, hot office, Karen says, “I’ve been thinking about what you said.”

“When?”

“On Sunday, in the cemetery,” she says. “About going home. Maybe I should.”

“Maybe we should all come,” ventures Matt. “Take a long weekend, close the office. A firm road trip. I’ve never been to Vermont.”

“You’ve never been anywhere,” Foggy says, entering the room and the discussion at once. “Where are we going?”

Karen fiddles with paper on her desk. “Matt was thinking I ought to go home. You know, to see where my brother …”

“I’d love to see where the amazing Karen Page grew up,” Foggy says warmly. “Far away in some tiny town in Vermont, before the bright city lights called her to a life of adventure and penury. I’m in. When do we go?”

They settle for the following weekend. Matt expresses a hope that the criminals of Hell’s Kitchen will also take the weekend off, but is resigned to the fact there will be victims of crimes left unsaved for a couple of nights.

Foggy negotiates the time away from Marci with promises of an extra-lavish date.

Karen leaves three messages for her father, and books rooms in the only motel in Fagan’s Corner.

On the day they’re leaving, she packs a small bag, puts it in the trunk of her car, and then paces her apartment for half an hour wondering how she can back out of the plan. Then she kicks herself metaphorically in the backside and goes to pick up Foggy and Matt.

Matt gets the back seat to himself, as there’s clearly no way he can help in the driving, or the navigation. Foggy starts the trip in control of the tape deck but the resulting argument over the music, which apparently he and Matt have been having since they first roomed together, means that musical silence quickly reigns. Instead, the car is filled with the noise of traffic as Matt winds down his window to listen to unfamiliar sounds and smell unfamiliar smells.

Foggy gets bored of this quickly, and switches to telling increasingly crazy stories about Columbia, which make Karen laugh and take her mind off the fact that she is pointing the car right in the direction she least wants to go in.

They stop for coffee after a couple of hours, and Foggy takes over the driving.

“Hey,” says Matt, from the back, “tell us about your brother, Karen.”

She grips the handle of her purse, but apparently Matt can hear the leather creaking under the pressure. “Not about his death. About his life,” he says.

“He …” Karen closes her eyes, and thinks of Kevin. “He was a surprise. Think my parents had given up on another kid. I was already at kindergarten when he was born. He was always so good, you know? Like, he didn’t cry much as a baby, never threw a tantrum as a toddler.”

“He can’t have been perfect,” Matt says.

“God no. He was a fussy eater for years, that drove Mom mad. And he was messy, you should have seen his room.” Karen remembers the piles of clothes adorning every surface in Kevin’s tiny bedroom. “But he was a good brother. A really good brother. Even though I was older, he looked out for me.”

“He sounds nice,” Foggy puts in.

“Yeah.” Karen remembers arguing with Kevin over small things, and bonding with him over the big things. “Yeah. He was.”

They roll into Fagan’s Corner in the early evening, as the day’s heat starts to lessen, and check in at the motel. Karen dumps her bag in her dingy double room and goes to find Matt and Foggy in their twin next door, where Matt has opened all the windows.

“There’s really nowhere else to stay?” he asks, as Karen comes in.

“Apparently there’s a smell,” Foggy says, and Karen sniffs. She cannot smell anything particular unpleasant, but she trusts Matt.

“This is it,” she says, “sorry. We can get some air freshener at the drugstore?”

“And add chemicals to it?” Matt asks. “I’ll survive. It’s only a couple of nights. But we’re not giving them a good review on TripAdvisor.” He turns from breathing in the fresh air of outside. “Dinner? When do you want to try your dad, Karen?”

“Tomorrow,” Karen says.

“Where do you get dinner round here, anyway?” Foggy queries. “I know you said it was a small town, Karen, but this is _really_ a small town.”

There is only one option, and Karen is dreading it as the chances of running into someone she knows – or knew – are high. But she feels more confident walking into Fagan’s Saloon with Matt and Foggy by her side. She is guiding Matt, who claims he needs the help in an unfamiliar environment; Karen is not sure he’s being entirely truthful, but it’s good to feel his firm grip on her elbow.

The saloon is still quiet. It’s early, after all. Karen steers Matt to a booth while Foggy goes to the bar to find menus and order beer. The place has barely changed, just a couple of new photos on the wall of the high school football team marking the passage of time.

Matt reaches out across the table and finds her hand, squeezing it. “All right?” he asks, and Karen remembers she’s not here alone.

“Yeah. Yes,” she repeats, more firmly. “It’s weird, that’s all. Part of me thought I’d never come back here.”

“You need to lay those ghosts to rest, Karen,” Matt says.

Appearing with beer, Foggy lets Karen take a couple of menus from under his arm. “This will help,” he says, plonking the glasses down. “No Braille menus,” he adds, to Matt, and Karen laughs out loud at the concept of the Saloon having such a thing as a Braille menu.

They read the menu out to Matt, Foggy putting on absurd accents to denote each of the cuisines allegedly covered in the selection (Mexican, Greek and Italian), and Karen warns them off the fish. Eventually they all settle for burgers and fries, and Foggy heads off to make the order.

Three beers each and the burgers down, Karen has relaxed enough to start telling Matt and Foggy some of the less embarrassing Fagan’s High stories. She is midway through the tale of the teacher who got hopelessly drunk while chaperoning junior prom when Matt’s shoulders stiffen, and his expression goes from amused to borderline Devil in a split second.

Foggy notices too. “Matt? Buddy?”

“Couple of guys, table by the bar,” Matt clips out, head tilted at that angle that says he’s listening to something hard. “Started talking about Karen.”

“Well, I’m the chick killed her brother,” Karen says, the evening going from fun to hell in a moment. “Small town.”

“Right, I think we’ve all had enough to drink and I for one am tuckered out after that drive,” Foggy declares, standing up. “C’mon. Matt, as Karen’s helpfully reminded us, it’s a small town and you’re a _blind lawyer on vacation_.”

Matt allows himself to be tugged out of the booth and out of the bar, but Karen notices his hand is tight around the handle of his cane, the scar tissue over his knuckles stretched white. She tries not to think about what the men in the bar must have been saying, for him to get quite so worked up, but at the same time it is oddly touching.

He relaxes a little as they make their way back to the motel. At Foggy and Matt’s door, Karen puts a hand on his arm.

“Matt, will you promise me something?” He does not reply, and she barrels on. “Please don’t try going to find those guys and hit them? It’s a small town, we’re strangers here, word will get out. This is tough enough for me as it is. Promise me?”

He lifts his head, and almost finds her gaze with his glasses. “Yeah.”

“I can’t tell if you’re lying to me, Matt,” Karen says softly.

“I promise,” Matt says. “I won’t go out and find those guys.”

“I’ll lock the door and hide the key,” puts in Foggy, as cheerfully as he can.

“You know that wouldn’t stop me?” Matt points out. He reaches for Karen’s hand, and holds it for a moment. “I promise.”

She says good night, and goes into her own room, locking the door and attaching the chain.

They meet in the morning for breakfast. Matt waits until they are all a cup of coffee in and are in the process of eating their second bagels, before asking what the plan is for the day.

“I want to go to … to see Kevin, first, and my mom,” Karen says, having spent half the night awake and thinking about this. “And then my dad.”

The cemetery is a mile out of town, and a little unkempt. It’s not like the population of Fagan’s Corner is large enough to generate regular funerals. Karen has been here only a few times before – the day they buried her mother, and a couple of times after that, and the day they buried Kevin.

Kevin and Penelope Page are side-by-side, their graves marked by simple, grey granite headstones. Karen’s father has clearly been taking care of both and she adds her two bouquets and sinks down on to the sun-dried grass.

“I never meant for this to happen,” she tells Kevin. “None of this … everything got so messed up, after Mom. I couldn’t deal. I told myself I was fine, told myself I was just having fun, but I could never deal. And you were the victim and I’m so sorry.” She swipes tears from her face. “Jesus, Kevin, I’m so so sorry.”

The tears are flowing uncontrollably now and she gives in and lets them come.

Matt and Foggy wait nearby and let her grieve. Karen does not know how long she cries for, but eventually the tears stop of their own accord. Behind her, footsteps approach and then there’s a handkerchief pressed into her hand by Foggy, and Matt’s familiar, steady touch on her shoulder.

Karen turns down the suggestion of coffee before going to her dad’s, but she does get Foggy to pull in on the forecourt of the diner on the way. The place is boarded up, and the apostrophe in ‘Penny’s’ is hanging loose on the sign. It looks sad, and neglected.

“I hated this place,” she says, staring at it. “Hated having to be here for 6am so Chief Bernie could get his breakfast. Hated the truckers who’d try and feel me up. Hated the way my dad kept spending money on it, even when we were broke.” She sniffs. “Kevin made mean eggs though.”

She looks at the diner for a while longer, and then at Foggy. “Next stop, driver.”

Paxton Page has moved to a small house a little out of Fagan’s Corner, with a yard. A beat-up old truck is parked outside.

“Want us to come with you, or stay here?” Foggy asks, looking with concern at Karen.

She thinks. “Come with, please.”

Foggy nods.

They all get out of the car and Karen offers Matt her elbow again. He gives her a reassuring smile, takes it and together, they head across the yard.

There is no response to Karen’s knock for several minutes, and she wonders if perhaps her father is out, but when she glances at Matt he is clearly listening to something inside the house. “He’s there,” he says, without being prompted. “Watching TV. Football. Knock again, louder.”

Karen knocks again, louder, and after a second Matt nods.

“Yeah, he heard that.”

Soon she too can hear footsteps coming towards the door, fumbling at the chain and latch, and then it is opened a crack and her father peers through.

“Hey, Dad,” she says.

Her father unlatches the chain and opens the door a little wider, but not wide enough to be a true welcome. “Karen? What the hell are you doing here?”

“I called you,” she says, tightly. “Three times. Came to see … to see Kevin, and Mom. And you.”

“Huh.” Paxton Page looks suspiciously at Matt and Foggy. “And who?”

“Friends,” says Karen. “And colleagues.”

“Foggy Nelson,” Foggy introduces himself, holding out a hand, which Karen’s father does not take.

“Matt Murdock,” Matt adds, not holding out a hand, but keeping his light grip on Karen’s elbow and the other on his cane.

“How are you, Dad?” Karen asks, thinking that he looks sad, and lonely, and possibly a little drunk although it is not yet lunchtime. Paxton shrugs.

“How do you think, Karen?”

She swallows, and tells herself she has done enough crying for the day already. “I missed you,” she says, instead.

“Surprised you had time, busy life in the city and all,” her father returns, “whatever it is you’re doing with it.”

“She’s a partner with us, in our law firm,” Foggy says. He feels in a pocket, and holds out a business card. “Best damn investigator in Manhattan.”

Paxton hesitates, and then takes the card. “Thought you’d gone to journalism,” he says, and Karen realises that despite her father’s studied disinterest, he has not been totally ignoring her occasional emails.

“Got a better offer,” she replies. Matt squeezes her elbow fondly.

There is silence, and then her father holds open the door. “Come in and tell me about it?” he suggests, and some of the hostility is gone from his voice.

Inside, the house is a little messy, with a few empty beer cans lying around, but otherwise it is clean enough. Paxton goes off to make coffee and Foggy prowls the living room, exclaiming when he finds an old family photo of Karen, Kevin and their parents. “I wish you could see this, Matt,” he says. “Little Karen was extremely cute.”

“I’m not even that little in that picture,” Karen protests, but it’s nice of Foggy and it makes her smile for the first time in what seems like hours.

Her father returns bearing a tray of coffee; he’s even pulled out a packet of cookies.

“So, an investigator, huh?” he says.

They leave some time later, after Paxton has thoroughly grilled Matt and Foggy about their practice and the role Karen plays in it. By tacit agreement they sketch over the previous incarnation, and failure, of Nelson & Murdock and focus on Nelson, Murdock & Page and their recent case wins. Foggy is his usual cheerful self, and under the influence of coffee and cookies, Matt thaws from his initial coolness and helps with a dash of Murdock charm.

By the end of the visit Karen feels confident enough to reach out for a hug. After a pause, her father returns it, briefly patting her back before releasing her. It’s not much, but it’s more than they’ve had for years.

“You … you look after my girl, you hear me?” Paxton says as they head out of the door, mostly to Foggy.

“Yes sir,” Foggy assures him.

They get into the car and Karen leans her head back with a deep sigh.

“Thanks,” she says. “I mean it. Both of you, thanks.”

They stop at the grocery store for food and then Karen suggests heading out to a nearby waterfall for a walk and a change of scene. She has had enough of reliving the past for the day, and it is pleasant instead to find some shade under the trees on the forest path leading to the river. She and Foggy take it in turns to describe their surroundings to Matt, who counters by telling them what he can smell and what he can hear. It is nice, Karen thinks, to be somewhere that isn’t New York, isn’t the Kitchen, isn’t an office with two of the people she values – two of the people she loves – the most in the world.

By the end of the day they are all famished and, by common consent, head back to Fagan’s Saloon for more beer and food. It is late when they wander out, Karen’s arms hooked in Matt and Foggy’s elbows, right and left.

There is a group of three men crossing the parking lot towards them, and Karen realises too late to steer away that one of them, at least, is familiar. She tenses, only fractionally, but Matt realises – of course Matt realises.

“What is it?” he asks, soft in her ear.

“Ex,” she says, tersely, as Todd and his friends approach and halt in front of them so that Karen, Matt and Foggy must also pause.

“Karen Page,” says Todd.

She nods, but does not trust herself to say anything.

“Friend of yours?” asks one of the two with Todd. Both men are well-built, muscled and tough-looking, and Todd too looks like he’s added weight since Karen last saw him. She pushes down memories of that night, of the first time she fired a weapon in anger.

“Bitch shot me,” Todd snarls out. “Stupid junkie _slut_ shot me, and her kid brother burned my fucking trailer to the ground.”

Karen hears Foggy’s gasp even as Matt pulls his arm out of her elbow, folding his cane swiftly.

“You’ll take that back,” Matt says, his voice deadly calm and pitched much lower than Karen is used to.

“Oh, God,” says Foggy.

“Matt, let’s just go,” Karen tries, reaching for Matt’s sleeve.

“Yeah, and what’cha gonna do about it if I don’t?” Todd asks. “Who are you anyway, Batman?”

He and his friends snigger, as Foggy says, _sotto voce,_ “bats aren’t blind, you idiot”.

Matt takes off his glasses and passes them backwards to Karen without turning his head. “I asked you to apologise to my friend,” he repeats, and Karen’s spine tingles at his tone. Suddenly she understands why the criminals in Hell’s Kitchen run at the sight of the Daredevil.

“Matty, buddy,” pleads Foggy, “let’s just go.”

Taking Foggy’s arm, because he looks like he’s about to launch himself at Matt, Karen says, “no. Let him.” She stares at Todd, and realises that she’s barely thought about him for months. That is good. What is less good is the knowledge that when she lived here, he controlled her. He controlled her body, and her mind. It was for him that she danced half-naked at parties, for him that she sold drugs and took drugs and let herself fall. Now she finds she wants to see him beaten, again.

“Christ,” Foggy says, putting an anguished hand to his head.

Todd laughs, and rushes Matt, his arm coming back for the punch. Matt just grins, ducks, and swipes up with his folded cane to land a blow in Todd’s stomach.

Grunting, Todd stumbles and turns, and his mates, yelling, join the fight.

Karen realises this is the third time she’s seen Matt fight, the second time she’s known it’s him, and the first time she’s not been in fear for her own life. It’s far more pleasurable without the terror, although she winces when Todd’s larger friend succeeds in a weak punch to Matt’s cheek.

But there is no contest. Matt _dances_ around the three of them, using their weaknesses to his advantage. His blows are hard and precise, his kicks swift and brutal. When one of them manages to get an arm around his neck, Matt uses the momentum to flip himself over his attacker and bring him to the floor.

Within minutes, although it seems like hours, the three lie gasping, bloodied and bruised on the concrete of the parking lot. Matt has a bruise developing on his cheek, and he is breathing fast, but otherwise he seems unharmed. He bends down and picks up his cane from where it had landed, unfolds it, and says calmly, “we ought to go.”

“What if someone calls the police?” Foggy asks.

“I don’t think they’ll bother,” Matt says, accepting his glasses from Karen and putting them back on. “They don’t strike me as the type to report being taken out by a blind man.” He smiles again, the Devil’s smile, and pats at his hair ineffectually.

Karen proffers her elbow again and Matt takes it. “You okay, Karen?” he queries, as she sets off towards the motel.

“I’m good,” she says, and she knows he will not detect any lie. “I’m good.”

The police do not come, and after a deep night’s sleep they’re on the road back to New York early. Foggy has recovered from the night’s trauma and keeps describing the fight for Matt’s benefit.

“We know, we were there,” Karen says, the third time around.

“It’s just … I’ve never seen it, for real, before,” Foggy admits. “I’ve seen the bruises, and the stitches, and the awful, awful consequences of Daredevil, but I’ve never seen a real fight.”

“You still haven’t,” Matt comments, from the back, where he is listening with a little smile on his lips. “You want to see a real fight, I’ll take you out some time.”

Foggy actually shudders, and grips the steering wheel a little harder. “I’ll pass, thanks, Matty. But somehow I feel better about the whole thing, actually seeing it.”

Matt says nothing, but when Karen turns to look at him he’s leaning back with a contented expression on his face.

They pull up outside Matt’s apartment in the early afternoon, the metallic smells of Hell’s Kitchen drifting through the car windows.

“So, do we count the first road trip of Nelson, Murdock & Page a success?” Foggy asks.

Karen gets out of the car and stretches. “Yes. You were right, Matt, I needed that. And now I never have to go back again.”

“What about your dad?” Matt questions.

“I’m going to work on him visiting me instead,” Karen says. “And it might take a while. I don’t think we healed all our wounds in a morning. But it was a start, I guess.”

Matt shoulders his bag with his left hand and takes his cane in his right. “I’m glad. You should try and see him, while you have him.” He turns towards his building. “Till tomorrow, guys.”

Foggy and Karen watch him go. “Do you really feel better about the whole D-thing?” Karen asks Foggy, and he shrugs.

“Little bit. But I’m still going to give him hell if he rocks up at work tomorrow with a busted rib or something. Do you really feel better about home?”

She pats him on the arm. “I do. Much. Anyway, you know Matt would have already pulled me up on it if I was lying. Want a lift back to yours?”

“Going to get the subway to Marci’s,” Foggy says. “She has better air-con, plus other benefits. See you tomorrow, Karen.”

He heads off with a wave, and she gets back into her car and pulls into the traffic. It was good to be home.


End file.
